


Dirty Paws

by lit_chick08



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Cousin Incest, F/M, Family Secrets, Murder Mystery, POV Female Character, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit_chick08/pseuds/lit_chick08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark only wanted to prove to Joffrey that her father was the only honest politician in Washington.  But when Sansa discovers her father has been supporting a man named Jon Snow, it unleashes an avalanche of secrets that could bring down the most powerful families in Washington, secrets they would kill to keep hidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Paws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefairfleming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/gifts), [honey_wheeler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/gifts).



> This was inspired by [this photoset](http://gigglemonster.tumblr.com/post/45565974173/what-killed-him-loyalty-au-meme-starks-as-a) by [Gigglemonster](http://gigglemonster.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Many thanks to her for giving me the okay to play in her world.

It started with a stupid comment from Joffrey. So many things seemed to start that way, and, not for the first time, Sansa Stark considered the consequences of breaking up with her longtime boyfriend. At this point, she had spent her entire dating life with Joffrey Baratheon; her father had been his father’s chief of staff for so long, it seemed only natural they start to date as well. But now, as she listened to him prattle on and on about the ethics charges being brought against his family, Sansa wondered what it would be like to date someone else, _anyone_ else.

Sansa didn’t know much about what their fathers’ did. Of course she understood that Robert Baratheon was the Senator from Virginia and her father had given up his legal practice in Vermont to become Robert’s chief of staff. She knew her father spent most of his time in the city while Sansa, her mother, and her four siblings lived in the Maryland suburbs, that her father made a ridiculous amount of money which paid for their private school tuitions and now Robb’s tuition at Dartmouth. She knew her parents often fought behind closed doors about the amount of time her father spent at the office but put on a brave face for their children. And she knew that every Sunday without fail her father would be home to attend Mass. He was a devout man, her father, and though Sansa preferred her mother’s Methodist church to the rigidity of St. Matthew’s, she respected her father’s faith. Sometimes she and Robb mused that Ned Stark’s religious devotion had to do with the work he did for Robert; if ever there was a career which required frequent absolution, it was politics.

Sansa could easily believe what every news outlet in the country seemed to be reporting: that Robert Baratheon used campaign funds to pay for prostitutes, expensive vacations, alcohol, and every other vice under the sun. Despite being prodigiously fat and frequently drunk, Sansa had seen for herself the way women seemed to fall at his feet, batting their eyes and draping themselves all over him at fundraisers even as his wife Cersei looked on with murder in her green eyes. Joffrey always seemed amused by his father’s philandering, which confused to Sansa to no end; if Robb ever found out Ned was having an affair, he’d kill him for bringing such shame on their mother. Sansa didn’t know what Myrcella or Tommen thought of the whole situation; Myrcella was tucked away at boarding school and Tommen was too young and too innocent to ever suspect what a bastard his father was. But even as much as Joffrey clearly knew his father was guilty, he kept trying to convince Sansa he didn’t deserve to be punished.

“If he broke the law – “

“Oh, Sansa, grow up,” Joffrey ordered in that withering voice that always made her want to curl in on herself. He was two years older than she was, a sophomore at George Washington, and it seemed like since he started college, he deeply enjoyed making her feel stupid. “Everyone in this town has broken the law.”

“That’s not true. My father – “

Joffrey laughed harshly. “ _Your_ father? Who do you think cleans up my father’s messes? You think he hasn’t broken the law, doesn’t have skeletons in the closet? My father always says men like your father, the ones who act so pious and right, have the dirtiest hands of all.”

Sansa stayed quiet the rest of the drive home, unable to reconcile the picture Joffrey painted of her father with the man she loved so much. As she entered the sprawling McMansion they moved into after Robert won the election, she heard Bran and Rickon playing video games in the back parlor; judging from the thumping bass reverberating throughout the house, Arya was in her room blasting that stupid band her mysterious boyfriend turned her onto, and Sansa glimpsed her mother in the kitchen, her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder as she chatted with Aunt Lysa. Catelyn Stark raised a hand in greeting, and Sansa half-heartedly smiled before heading towards the stairs. She was about to climb them when she saw the door to her father’s office was cracked. Ned was in California until Saturday for some press tour, and Sansa found herself slipping inside, sitting at the high backed leather chair before the massive desk.

Several photos stared at her as she ran her hands over the smooth wood. There was the photo of Catelyn, herself, and Arya taken the same day as the one of Ned, Robb, Bran, and Rickon. Her parents’ wedding portrait was held in a silver frame Sansa picked out for their 20th anniversary, both of them barely out of college and smiling broadly. And in the final frame was a Stark family picture of a Stark family Sansa never knew.

Her father never really spoke about his family. His mother died giving birth to her Uncle Benjen, and all Sansa really knew of her was that she was from some tiny town in Canada. Her grandfather Rickard was once the governor of Vermont. Sansa knew he and her Uncle Brandon were killed in a car accident when Ned was in his senior year of college, and it was shortly after that everything continued to fall apart. Aunt Lyanna had a breakdown after it happened, eventually committing suicide a year after the accident; Uncle Benjen forewent college to work on a pipeline in Alaska. A few times Ned told stories of what life was like before but all of them knew not to ask; it hurt too much. That was not to say Sansa didn’t have questions; she was overflowing with them. Why had Aunt Lyanna killed herself? Why did they never visit any of their graves? What had made her mother, who was engaged to Uncle Brandon when he died, fall in love with her father? It seemed like there were so many questions and never any answers.

She didn’t know why it surprised her to find the desk drawers unlocked. Her father was a trusting man in general, but it had always been a hard and fast rule that no one was to come into his office uninvited. Row after row of files were labeled in Ned’s fastidious penmanship, and Sansa didn’t even know what she was looking for; she highly doubted a file would be labeled “Crimes I’ve Committed.” With a role of her eyes and a sigh at her own stupidity, she began to slide the drawer closed when she saw one tab simply marked “JS.” Unlike every other tab which was filled with a precise description, those two letters taunted Sansa until she pulled the blue folder out and opened it.

At first she didn’t understand what she was looking at. She didn’t have a head for numbers, and these seemed to be ledgers. It took a moment for her to realize they were tuition bills for Georgetown University and, further back, for an exclusive private school in Massachusetts. The name of the student was listed as Jon Arthur Snow, and his birthdate was six months to the day prior to Robb’s. Most surprisingly was the signature on every receipt, a signature Sansa recognized from report cards and birthday cards. Doing some quick math, Sansa calculated that her father had paid nearly $100,000 in tuition for this Jon Snow, and she couldn’t understand why. She couldn’t think of a single person they knew with the surname Snow, and her father never mentioned him. Why would he pay a small fortune for this boy’s education?

She didn’t know why she wrote down the address from a rental application for a complex near Georgetown, a rental application her father was listed as the cosigner on, but she quickly scribbled it on a pad and stuffed it into her pocket. Maybe Joffrey wasn’t right about her father being a criminal, but he was _was_ right about something.

Her father had been keeping a secret, and she was going to find out what it was.

* * *

Margaery Tyrell was the sort of friend her parents were both happy she had and wished would go away. She was not quite as despised by Ned and Catelyn as Myranda Royce, whom they always seemed to find an excuse as to why Sansa could not possibly hang out with her, but she was definitely not embraced as solidly as Jeyne Poole, who always dropped her off twenty minutes before curfew.

Unlike Sansa, Margaery had been born and bred on the Washington political scene. Technically her family was from Colorado, and they made their fortune by operating breweries and later food companies before her father decided to try his hand at becoming a lobbyist. Sansa had no idea what the Tyrells’ political affiliation was and the one time she asked Margaery, her friend smirked and said, “Whoever is paying us the most.” While Sansa’s parents made sure she and her siblings had as normal of an upbringing as possible, Margaery’s parents did the opposite; they paid an arm and a leg for her to attend the same private school as President Targaryen’s sister Daenerys and daughter Rhaenys, indulged her in everything she could possibly want, and, if the rumors were to be believed, donated an entire wing to a library to make sure she was accepted at Georgetown. Why Margaery decided to befriend Sansa when they moved to Washington was still a mystery to the younger girl, but life was certainly never boring when Margaery was around.

Today, for instance, Margaery wore a dress that plunged to her navel, and Sansa had no idea how her breasts didn’t immediately pop out of the gap; the sides of the dress were cut out as well, revealing skin still tan from her last vacation to Turks and Caicos. A pair of Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses held her chestnut hair out of her eyes, and, as she raised her hand to flag down the waitress, Sansa saw she had a fresh manicure. Sansa looked down at her own outfit of leggings and a top and felt wildly underdressed.

“Jon Snow?” Margaery repeated after Sansa finally gathered the courage to ask about the mystery boy in the file. “Why do you want to know about him?”

Sansa shrugged, aiming for casual as she sipped her iced tea. “I just do. Do you know him?”

Margaery nodded, wrinkling her nose as she pushed cheese off of her salad. “He’s the TA for one of my classes. I think he’s a junior, maybe a senior, pre-law like every other guy around here; he’s reasonably hot but keeps to himself. He lives with some fat pre-med major and his townie girlfriend off-campus.” Sansa’s amusement must have shown on her face because Margaery defensively explained, “A friend of mine tried to hook up with him once! Besides, if I’m going to go slumming, I’m not going to do it with an honor student.”

“Slumming?”

“Scholarship kid,” Margaery explained, saying the word scholarship the way other people said serial killer. “According to Ros, he’s an orphan and some mysterious benefactor pays his bills. He TAs for spending money, which means he can’t even afford to take someone to McDonalds unless they’re ordering off the Dollar Menu.” Margaery arched a perfectly plucked brow. “Now, how do _you_ know Jon Snow?”

“I don’t,” she answered honestly, and Sansa hoped the half-lie didn’t show on her face. Everyone always said she was an absolutely awful liar. “I saw him on Facebook when I was clicking through, he seemed cute.”

“Cute but damaged,” Margaery assessed. “Besides, if you want to trade in Joffrey for a better model, I can introduce you to a hundred guys better than Jon Snow, including my brother.”

Sansa knew it was Margaery’s fondest wish to hook her up with her older brother Willas, who had just started working at Mace Tyrell’s firm. It didn’t seem to bother Margaery that Willas was 26 and Sansa just recently 18, but Sansa knew it would _definitely_ bother her parents.

“So you won’t introduce me to him?”

Margaery sighed as if she was long suffering. “No, I’ll introduce you. Do you have the ID I got you?”

Sansa nodded, thinking of the fake ID hidden behind her driver’s license. She only used it once before to get into a club Margaery’s brother Loras insisted they come to, but she could still recite the information perfectly, including her assumed name – Alayne Stone – and the birth date that made her three years older.

Pulling a handful of bills out of her purse, Margaery set them on the table and gestured for Sansa to stand. “Then let’s get you ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to go somewhere without looking like you stripped a mannequin from H&M.”

Sansa blushed brightly but followed Margaery back to her condo without complaint, sitting still while Margaery dressed her like a Barbie. The skirt she insisted Sansa wear barely covered her ass, and she couldn’t help but pull at it as they entered the pub Margaery swore Jon would be at. Margaery insisted it was a crime for her to keep her legs covered, but Sansa felt beyond exposed. She tried to stay close to her friend, hoping to hide behind her and be as unobtrusive as possible. It seemed as if half of the pub knew Margaery, calling out her name and pressing kisses to her cheek, and Sansa scanned the room trying to find the boy her father had spent so much money on over the years.

“There,” Margaery said, pointing across the room towards the dartboards. “The one in all black.”

“Oh,” Sansa managed, surprised at the strong surge of attraction swelling in her stomach as Jon Snow laughed at something one of his companions said. 

He was handsome. Sansa didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this. Jon Snow wasn’t as tall as Joffrey, but it was clear he was fitter, his t-shirt stretched over a broad chest and muscled shoulders. His hair was a tumble of inky black curls worn longer than Sansa usually preferred in men, and a neatly kept beard covered his jaw. He stood in a circle of other guys his age, each with a beer in hand, and, as if he felt her eyes on him, he turned and met her gaze steadily. Sansa felt herself blush, dropping her eyes, and she realized she did not know what came next. When she thought to find him, she didn’t plan on what she would say, and there certainly wasn’t a polite way of asking why her father spent a fortune on his education without ever mentioning it to them.

“This was a mistake,” Sansa murmured to a confused Margaery only a moment before there was a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turned her head to see Jon Snow standing there, a soft smile on his face. For a moment she hesitated before managing, “Hello.”

“Hey. I’m Jon.”

“Sa – Alayne.” 

“May I buy you a drink, Alayne?”

“She’d love one,” Margaery answered for her, wrapping an arm around Sansa’s shoulders. Jon’s smile weakened some when he saw Margaery and there was something like distrust in his eyes as he flagged down the bartender; Sansa knew the kinds of jokes the girls in her school liked to play on boys from the public school, and she wondered if Jon thought she and Margaery were toying with him. It made her feel strangely sad for Jon Snow and angry at the girls who must have made him cautious.

He handed her a bottle of beer, and Sansa took a heavy swallow despite her distaste for the alcohol. She managed not to wrinkle her nose at the bitterness, and she felt Margaery nudge the small of her back, trying to spur her into action. Sansa has never been much of a flirt; there was no point with Joffrey, so instead she simply said thank you and waited.

“Do you play darts?” Jon asked.

Sansa shook her head and, feeling Margaery nudge her back again, she offered, “I could watch you play.”

Margaery didn’t cross the room with them, instead turning to talk to a tall woman at the bar. Sansa was both grateful and disappointed Margaery left her to fend for herself; with Margaery around, at least Sansa knew she wouldn’t be wholly alone. Jon’s friends looked at her and then at Jon, amusement and surprise on their faces, and if Jon noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Alayne, this is Sam, Pyp, Grenn, and Gilly. Guys, this is Alayne.”

They’re not the sort of people Sansa was used to hanging out with; with the exception of Sam, whom she quickly learned in General Tarly’s son, none of them are from any position of privilege. Sam’s girlfriend Gilly was a waitress; Pyp and Grenn both worked construction. They were friendly and boisterous; Sansa found herself laughing at the crass jokes Pyp and Grenn told, blushing when their jokes became too raunchy. Jon bought her another beer, and, as Sam and Gilly left and the guys went back to darts, she and Jon began to talk.

He was a senior and a TA, like Margaery said. Though he was pre-law, he was considering joining the police department instead. When she asked about family, his face clouded over for a moment before he offered that he was an orphan who grew up in foster homes in Pennsylvania. Sansa tried to keep close to the truth when Jon asked about her life; she talked about her siblings, growing up in New England before moving to Maryland four years earlier, her uncertainty about the future. She talked about how her father wanted her to stay in the area while her mother wanted her to attend Smith like she had, and Sansa admitted she had no idea what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

“Who says you have to know right this second?” Jon asked, and Sansa felt incredibly stupid for thinking there was something insidious in her father’s sponsorship of Jon Snow. He was just a goodhearted guy who needed a break, and her father offered it. She wanted to curse Joffrey for putting such doubt in her head.

She wasn’t sure who initiated it. One moment she and Jon were laughing about a movie they both liked while they played pool and the next they were kissing more passionately than Sansa could ever remember being kissed. Jon’s fingers slid into her hair, holding her close, and Sansa grasped the back of his shirt tightly, knowing this was a bad idea and unable to stop herself.

They stumbled backwards, their mouths still fused, and Sansa felt the wall against her back. She briefly opened her eyes and saw Jon had lead them into an alcove near an ancient payphone, and the cynical part of her mind wondered if he did this often with girls he picked up at the bar. The other part was too wild with desire from the brush of Jon’s thumb against the underside of her breast.

“Jon,” she gasped as his lips found her neck. “Jon, anyone can see us. We can’t – We can’t do this – “

Jon pulled back, his pupils so wide his eyes seemed black. “Come home with me.”

The suggestion of it was insane. Sansa hardly considered herself to be the paragon of virtue Margaery seemed to think she was; she and Joffrey had been dating for years, and they had fooled around. But every time Joff pressed to have sex, Sansa said no, insisting she wanted to wait even if she didn’t know why. It didn’t really matter; Joff could be easily put off with a blowjob. But the idea she would turn down her boyfriend of four years but go home with a relative stranger…It wasn’t the sort of thing Sansa Stark did.

But she was Alayne Stone tonight, and Alayne nodded.

As she followed Jon down the street, her hand clutched tightly in his, Sansa idly thought she should text Margaery and let her know she was okay. Of course, if she texted Margaery, Margaery would want to know each and every detail of what was about to happen, and Sansa didn’t know if she wanted to recount the loss of her virginity via caps locked text messages and emoticons.

He lived in a brick building in a neighborhood she suspected her parents wouldn’t want her to be in during the day, let alone at night. As Sansa followed him up the four flights of stairs to his apartment, she wondered if it was too late to chicken out, run back to the bar and Margaery, and never again do anything brave or daring. Jon seemed to sense her uncertainty because he stopped after he unlocked the scratched door of his apartment and looked at her.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he offered, and it made warmth bloom in her stomach. It was so different from Joff’s demands, the utter irritation he did nothing to hide when Sansa didn’t want to fool around, disgust in his green eyes. 

“I want to,” she swore, leaning in to kiss him again, and it surprised Sansa just how much she meant it. She felt bold and strong and _wanted_ , and, as Jon wrapped his arms around her and lead her towards his bedroom, she thought maybe she’d like to stay Alayne Stone instead of Sansa Stark.

Her skin felt alive with sensation as Jon Snow began to slowly remove the ridiculous outfit Margaery insisted she wear. He kissed every patch of skin he revealed, murmuring appreciation each step of the way, and Sansa shivered. No one had ever made her feel so beautiful; she wanted to tell him that, to offer something in return, but Sansa found her voice didn’t want to cooperate. Instead she returned his kisses with matching vigor and hoped she didn’t telegraph her inexperience.

She couldn’t believe her own brazenness as she pushed Jon’s shirt up and over his head, her hands falling to the button of his jeans. Jon laughed a bit breathlessly as she fumbled a moment before working them over his hips. Sansa felt her breath catch as the back of her hand brushed against his cock, and she gasped as Jon caught her wrist and murmured, “Lie down.”

It took Sansa a moment to understand what Jon meant to do when he began to pepper kisses down her body. His mouth on her breasts provided a great distraction, but as he pressed suckling kisses over her stomach, her anxiety returned to her. Joff had never done this for her. She asked once, irritated that he never reciprocated, and his reaction still echoed in her ears. He told her it was disgusting, that no guy ever wanted to do it, and he couldn’t believe Sansa would ask him to do something so degrading. She could never bring herself to ask again; just the idea of it was enough to make her stomach turn.

“Jon,” she managed to choke out, trying to tell him he didn’t have to do this, that she didn’t expect it and didn’t need it, but Jon simply smiled up at her before bowing his head, his warm breath misting over the center of her. She could feel the slide of his fingers against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and Sansa closed her eyes, fisting her hands into the sheets and waiting for what came next.

The slide of his tongue against her wet flesh, his lips closing for a moment around her clit to suckle, made Sansa cry out in surprise. The pleasure of it was something she’d never experienced before, and Sansa couldn’t stop the flow of words from her lips. “Yes, Jon, please, more, don’t stop, yes, yes, god, yes.” She’d be embarrassed in the morning, but now was not the time for embarrassment.

She felt the bite of his fingers into her hips, and it was only then she realized she was squirming around, working herself against his questing mouth. Jon groaned against her, the vibration making her shake even harder, and his tongue became more insistent. Sansa gasped, forgetting how to breathe for a moment as the pleasure built to a fever pitch, and as it broke, Sansa sobbed out her pleasure, her breath leaving her in a great gust. Jon remained between her thighs, working her through it, and when her body finally stopped singing, she looked down to see Jon kissing his way back up her body, a soft smile on his face.

“Thank you,” she blurted out and Jon looked at her for a second, obviously puzzled. Sansa blushed, turning her face away, and Jon gently brought it back so that they were looking at each other.

“Thank _you_ ,” he countered, and when they kissed, Sansa could taste herself on his lips. It surprised her how much she enjoyed the taste, the feeling of doing something so unlike herself.

She watched as Jon stretched towards the nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out something. Sansa flushed and looked away as Jon shed his boxers, rolling the condom over his erection. They kissed, softer and slower than before, and Sansa knew she could still say no and Jon wouldn’t hold it against her. But as Jon’s thumb gently massaged the curve of her hip, his lips finding the sensitive place behind her ear, Sansa knew she didn’t want to say no. There was a reason she had never said yes to Joffrey, and Sansa believed this was it. Even if she didn’t have the strength to break up with Joffrey, to end their joke of a relationship, she knew she deserved a first time with someone who respected her, who would treat her well and care about her pleasure, and she couldn’t think of anyone who fit that description better than the mysterious Jon Snow.

Jon pulled her over top him, settling back into the pillows. Sansa knew she was crimson with embarrassment, completely exposed to his hungry gaze, but she rested her hands on his broad chest and exhaled slowly as she sank down onto Jon. It didn’t hurt as much as everyone always said it would; there was a pinch of pain, a stretching Sansa knew would be sore in the morning, but she didn’t cry out, didn’t claw up his skin. Jon moaned, low and rough in his throat, and the sound went through Sansa, made her want to see what other sounds she could draw from him.

Her movements were tentative at first, testing herself, trying to figure out what felt best. Jon’s hands settled on her hips, helping, and soon Sansa moved above him with confidence, her body tensing as her pleasure built. 

“Jesus, Alayne,” Jon panted, thrusting up into her, “I’m close. Are you close?”

She wasn’t, at least not close enough to come again. Though everything felt wonderful, Sansa knew it wasn’t enough but also knew she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that. Sansa opened her mouth, prepared to lie, but Jon must have read her hesitance because one hand fell to where they were joined and his thumb found where she ached. Her cry mixed with his own as she clenched around him, and their movements became frenzied, wild. Sansa could feel a bead of sweat rolling down her spine and she swore to herself she’d never do anything this crazy again so long as she could come just one more time.

Sansa’s shout was loud to her own ears as she tipped over the edge, grinding against Jon as she shook through her orgasm. Jon groaned like a pained man, snapped his hips twice more, and then his face folded into a look of such dopey pleasure, Sansa couldn’t help but drop down and kiss him.

“Alayne,” he whispered between kisses, and Sansa wished she could hear him say her real name just once.

She slipped beneath the comforter as Jon disappeared into the bathroom to remove the condom. Sansa had no idea what to do now. Did she go? Did she give him her number? Did she stay? She found her underwear on the floor, pulled them on and began the hunt for Margaery’s clothes. Just as she pulled Margaery’s tank top over her head, Jon reappeared from the bathroom and paused. He seemed completely comfortable with his nudity, and Sansa couldn’t help but stare; he really was a beautiful man.

“Running away?” he quipped, aiming for light, but Sansa could hear the undertone of hurt in his voice.

“I – I thought you’d want me to.” Sansa shifted her weight back and forth before admitting, “I’ve never done this before. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I don’t really do this either,” Jon admitted, climbing back onto the bed. “But I’d like you to stay if you want.”

Sansa paused, wanting so desperately to return to his bed. But if she spent the night with Jon, there was no way she’d be home in time for her curfew, and the last thing she wanted was for her parents to send the police to Margaery’s apartment and discover she left a bar to have a one-night stand with a guy four years older than her.

“I lied to you,” she confessed, wishing she didn’t have to do this, wishing she wore pants instead of standing before him in a borrowed tank top and underwear. “My name isn’t Alayne; it’s Sansa. Alayne is just the name on my fake ID. And I’m not 21; I’m 18 and I’m a senior in high school and as much as I want to stay here with you, my mom will murder me if I’m not home by curfew.”

Jon was quiet, his face revealing nothing. Sansa felt like she was going to throw up, and tears burned behind her lids. Finally he asked, “Anything else?”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, a tear escaping her eye. 

Jon rose from the bed, coming around and resting his hands on her shoulder. He gently wiped away her tear with his calloused thumb. “I knew you weren’t 21. None of Margaery’s friends are, and they all have the same bad IDs. Is everything else you told me true?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re okay. Sansa,” he added with a smile. “Sansa what?”

She knew now was the time to come clean, but she still couldn’t tell him her real name, her _father’s_ name. It probably didn’t matter at all; Sansa didn’t intend on seeing Jon Snow ever again. “Stone. Sansa Stone.”

“Sansa Stone,” he echoed, brushing a soft kiss against her lips. “Let me get dressed and I’ll call you a cab.”

They didn’t talk much as they waited outside his building for the cab to arrive. Sansa smiled at the way he wrapped his arms around her when she shivered from the cold, and she easily turned her face up for a few last kisses. When the cab arrived, Sansa refused the cash Jon tried to give her to pay the fare.

“I’m not going far,” she told him, which was true. Of course, she left out the part where she just needed to catch the metro back to the station where she had parked her brand new car, a present from her Grandpa Hoster after she was named a National Merit Scholar. 

Jon nodded, tucking the twenty-dollar bill back into his pocket. “Well then…It was nice meeting you, Sansa Stone.”  
“You too, Jon Snow,” she said, impulsively kissing him one last time before all but leaping into the backseat of the cab and slamming the door. Jon called something after her but Sansa didn’t quite hear it.

No, that was a lie. She heard the question – “Can I get your number?” – loud and clear, but she needed to pretend like she hadn’t. After tonight, Jon Snow was just going to be a memory.

She dug her cell phone out of her purse and cursed as she saw there was no way she was going to be back in Bethesda by 1:00am. There were a handful of texts in her inbox but only one from Margaery. Sansa tapped it and couldn’t help but laugh.

**You slut haha! You better call me and tell me EVERYTHING.**

By the time Sansa made it back home, it was just after two and all the lights in the house were off. Carefully letting herself in through the kitchen door, Sansa tapped in the security code to make sure the alarm didn’t go off and sighed. She was three steps towards the stairs when someone whispered, “You’re out late.”

Sansa whirled around and saw Arya standing in the shadow, a bottle of water in her hands. She opened her mouth to beg her little sister not to say anything when she realized Arya wore regular clothes instead of pajamas and clearly had just come in herself.

“I was with Margaery.”

Arya smirked, quirking an eyebrow. “Margaery left quite the hickey on your neck.”

“Fine, I was with Joffrey.”

“No, you weren’t. Bran went over to Tommen’s tonight and he came home complaining about how Joffrey refused to take them to the movies.” Arya shrugged. “I don’t care where you were or who you were with, but you should come up with a better story. And make sure to cover that hickey or else Mom’s going to kill you.”

“Where were _you_?” Sansa countered, defensiveness creeping into her voice.

Arya shrugged again. “I was doing what you were doing, but if Mom calls and asks, Micah’s dad will swear on a stack of Bibles I was working on a history project with him.”

Sansa couldn’t imagine Arya doing what she had done earlier that evening. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Who’s yours?” When Sansa said nothing, Arya moved to pass her. “Don’t step on the fourth step; it makes too much noise. And if you need help covering the hickey, I have some makeup that’ll work.”

As Sansa followed Arya up the staircase, carefully avoiding the fourth step, she wondered if everyone in this family had secrets.

* * *

Sansa couldn’t bring herself to ask Arya to use her makeup to cover the purple bruise on her throat, so she found a scarf to hide the mark Jon’s mouth had left behind. It wasn’t the only one; as she showered, Sansa also found a small mark near her nipple and one on her inner thigh. She didn’t know if she’d ever stop blushing, and, as the family piled into the car to go to Mass, Sansa couldn’t help but feel as if everyone could tell she had sex last night.

She sat beside her father on the hard pew, and she smiled when he lifted up his voice to sing. No one would ever call Ned Stark a gregarious man, but Sansa thought he came alive in church. Her father trusted God in a way Sansa could only try to emulate, and she felt her heart lighten when he reached over and squeezed her hand when she began to sing along as well.

“I love to listen to you sing,” Ned said as they stepped into the bright morning light. Her mother spoke to Mrs. Mormont while Arya and the boys found their friends. Sansa saw Jeyne Poole across the way, but she stayed close to her father today, trying to summon up the courage to ask him the question weighing on her mind.

“Daddy,” she began, “do you…Charity is important, right?”

“It’s our duty to help people worse off than us,” Ned confirmed easily.

“And you do that, you try to help people who aren’t fortunate?”

“It’s my duty,” he said, solemn as ever. “And it will be yours as well someday. It’s the Stark way.”

As Congressman Umber approached them, calling her father’s name in his loud voice, Sansa felt like an idiot for thinking her father was anyone other than the great man she thought him to be. She couldn’t believe she let herself for a second think Ned Stark could ever be like Robert Baratheon.

Her phone beeped with a voicemail. Sansa didn’t recognize the number from the missed call, and she tapped in her security code, waiting. She couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across her face as Jon Snow’s voice reached her ear.

“Hey, Sansa, this is Jon. I got your number from Margaery. I hope you don’t mind. Um…I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner or see a movie or just…hang out. I know it’s kind of doing everything backwards but…I can’t stop thinking about you. Anyway…call me…if you want. I hope you do. Bye.”

Sansa knew she shouldn’t call him back, that she should delete the message and go back to her life.

But she didn’t. She called him back and they made plans to hang out on Friday.

* * *

His apartment looked less shabby during the day. Though it was certainly nothing like Margaery’s or Joffrey’s place, it was surprisingly clean for an apartment shared by two college guys. There were textbooks everywhere, and Jon explained finals were soon and Sam was panicking because he was still waiting to hear about medical school. Sansa didn’t volunteer that she knew Sam’s family, that she’d met his mother and sisters at a tea hosted by Joffrey’s mother; Sansa knew saying such would raise too many questions she didn’t want to answer.

As Jon made popcorn, Sansa studied the pictures on Jon’s dresser. She was supposed to be looking for a movie to watch, but she was more intrigued by the few framed photographs Jon kept in his room. Jon laughed about her snooping, but Sansa knew it didn’t really bother him. 

Most of the photos were of Jon and a beautiful woman her parents’ age. She had thick, dark hair and warm brown skin, and she stood beaming with a younger Jon in a soccer jersey, Jon holding a high school diploma, Jon in front of the Capitol building.

Grabbing a DVD on the shelf, Sansa asked, “Who’s the woman in the pictures?”

Jon smiled with obvious affection. “That’s Wylla, my foster mother. I’ve been with her since I was a baby. She’s the best woman I know.”

“It sounds like you love her very much.”

“I do.”

Sansa sank down onto the couch, settling into the battered cushions. As Jon popped in the movie, she moved to turn off the lamp on the end table and froze as she spotted another picture. Picking it up, she asked, “Who’s this?”

Jon hesitated only a split second before settling in beside her. “Oh, that’s my old soccer coach. We were close.”

Sansa nodded, setting the frame back down and stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth to keep from calling him a liar. She couldn’t pay attention to the movie at all, and, when Jon moved to kiss her, Sansa barely felt the pressure of his mouth against hers.

All she could think about was why would Jon have a picture taken with her uncle Benjen and, more than that, why would he lie about who he actually was.

Sansa was suddenly glad she hadn’t told Jon who she truly was. Clearly Jon was not who he said he was either, and she was going to find out the truth no matter what the cost.


End file.
